Shady Vet Dude, or Sometimes Smart Women Make Stupid Choices

I got popped by my management office several ago for not having Greatest Puss in the World on the books. Needing the green light from a local vet to get everything in order, I played darts with the yellow pages, booked an appointment, forced the fighting Puss into his carrier, and arrived just in time to get the Puss his shots and myself into a little mess.

Shady Vet Dude started in with the flirting almost immediately. Feeling particularly on my game (although not, I realized a bit too late, particularly attracted to him), I reciprocated. When I left, he was waiting for me outside the office. Our brief exchange ended with him in possession of my number.

The texts started within the hour, infused with words like gorgeous and beautiful* and sexy. By the end of the night, he'd called four times. Each time, he called from a different number than the one he used to text me. Different than the one that, he made sure to point out, I should call. That I was allowed to call. His excuse for the separate numbers? A living situation that involved his ex-girl.

I agreed to go out with him on the condition that we head for a public place (rather than my house, as he'd presumptuously suggested). A round of appetizers later, our lips were locked in the parking lot, his hands taking more liberties with the exploration of my body with each passing moment. The rush of hormones and the feelings of high-school follies fogged my mind.

So, when I see you again, will I be seeing Belle or my girlfriend?

Wait. What!?! The fog cleared just enough for me to respond appropriately, with mention of that being a ludicrous request for a first date.

Only later, after more kissing and touching and teasing and the parting of ways, did I slow down to really think about all the things that didn't add up. The separate numbers. The rules about when and where we could meet. The suggestions that we spend our time together at my place. The too-much-for-a-first-date action, accompanied by unsolicited promises that he was looking for a relationship, not a fling. The way he avoided answering questions while demanding that I "open up" to him. The guilt-tripping manipulation tactics he had already begun employing.

It took me about a day to conclude that he was married, or, at best, still dating the woman he lived with. I still hadn't decided what to do to get rid of him. When he asked me out again the next day, I accepted and planned on recounting to his face all the ways in which I found him shady.

No sooner than I agreed to meet him, he did a 180 and started making (seriously lame) excuses about why he couldn't see me that evening, after all. So I told him exactly what was up on the phone instead.

The main points? Even if he was telling me the truth about everything (which I'm fairly confident he wasn't), his life was too fucked up to get another person involved. I deserve better than having to sneak around and entertain last-minute plans and changes of said plans.

His reaction? Well, it sounds like you're having some misgivings. Why don't you take tonight to think about it and call me tomorrow.

A few ball-less texts flowed my way that evening and the next day. The down-in-history classic being: Okay, look, I don't want to just give up on us. Second chance?

Us? Us?!? Oh no, buddy, one date doesn't not make you and me an us. Geez-o-pete.

Shady Vet Dude's sad little reach-outs garnered no response from me and eventually petered out.

But the best part? Now that SVD has stopped contacting me, Puss has decided to go and get himself a cyst or tumor or some other kind of scary growth.

I may or may not have to see SVD when I take Puss to the vet, but I plan on looking smoking hot and playing it totally cool, just in case.



* No, really, it was "beautifull," which should have been enough to make me ignore him from the start.

The Mexican: Fajitas, Fornication, and the Great Flight

The Mexican first e-mailed me asking if I wanted to come over the same night to watch a movie and smoke. I was out (yes, with another CL guy), and I didn’t get the message until late. But when I responded that I was sorry I'd missed the chance, he wrote back and asked me out for drinks and herbage the following day, a Monday. I agreed, and we met at a bar near his apartment. We had a good time chatting and got really comfortable really quickly when we went back to his place.

Because it was so late when the movie we watched ended (and, more importantly, because I had no cash for a cab home), I ended up accepting his offer that I stay the night. I made out with the guy, but I wouldn’t even let his hands roam on top of my clothes. While respecting my wishes for the most part, he, unfortunately, didn’t make a very good bed buddy. I don’t sleep well with others anyway, but this guy was tossing and turning spastically throughout the night. When he wasn’t flipping about, he was rubbing my feet with his and/or trying to make out with me. Between that and watching out for his occasionally-roaming hands, I got no sleep whatsoever.

The next day at work was, to say the least, absolutely horrible. In addition to the lack of sleep and the proverbial fan-hitting shit at work, I was pissed off that The Mexican never responded to my flirty e-mail I’d sent that morning. We’d exchanged about 30 messages the day before, and he’d told me he didn’t have much to do at work because Congress was in recess. So his not responding only sent me over the edge that day. He finally texted me the following night, asking what I was doing, but it was quite obviously a booty call-timed text, and that pissed me off even more. He went out of town a few days later, and I didn’t hear from him for a while.

He timed his contact so that when he finally did get back in touch with me, my anger had abated. After several weeks of sporadic contact and a few tentative plans that never panned out, The Mexican and I finally made arrangements to see each other. He was to make me dinner at his place. I was to bring some DVD selections. I threw a bottle of wine in my bag for good measure and headed out the door (only a few minutes late). Either my eyes or my directions failed me because I soon found myself in Georgetown, and that was not at all the route I should’ve taken. (What? You’re surprised I get lost driving in the District after being here 8 months? Don’t be. I sometimes get lost on the way to the gas station.) Long story short, I ended up getting to his place more than an hour late after parking all kinds of illegal. He was pretty gracious about it, though, so the night began and progressed fairly smoothly.

He made some delicious fajitas, and we settled down to watch one of my favorite movies. It wasn’t long before my shoes were off and he was rubbing my feet. We killed a couple bottles of wine, and I was pretty buzzed. He said I could stay the night again.

Belle: I would, but I don’t want to…
The Mexican: What, have sex?
Belle: Yeah.
The Mexican: That’s cool, as long as I know now… So, what, are you just not sexual or something?

And that’s when I laughed and drunkenly told him about The Resolution. He thought it insane, I’m sure, but we soon ended up in his bed. Things got a little heated, and we lost the clothes soon thereafter. Realizing his Little Mexican was at full attention and remembering what happened after he’d kept me up all night the last time, I felt I was faced with two feasible options if I wanted even the slightest opportunity to nod off: fellatio or fornication. Being that my confidence is low in my skills in the former (yeah, I just said that. I have no shame), I chose the latter.

So after about 10 months without sex, I ended up caving to a guy I’d met only once before. (Take note guys: two pseudo-dates + dinner = you in Belle’s pants!) And, to make it all even more bittersweet, the sex was less than mediocre. It wasn’t the worst I’ve ever had, but it certainly was nothing to brag about. When he got up to dispose of the condom, I suddenly felt amazingly sober. I got dressed and was practically heading for the door before he made it back from the bathroom. I told him I needed to move my car before it got towed (I did), and he didn’t make much effort to protest.

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I’d left all my DVDs at his place*. I was kicking myself already. Now I’d have to see him again or lose some of my favorite movies. I considered the sex and The Great Flight an act of sabotage on my part. If a guy vamped like that on me, I’d never want to see him again. And I figured my doing so had pretty much guaranteed the same reaction from him.

Amazingly, he’d e-mailed me by the time I got to work the next morning asking if I’d made it home okay. I told him I had and that I’d left my DVDs there. He said he’d keep them safe until next time.

I met up with The Mexican about a week later. I’d asked if he wanted to go to a movie, but he said he’d had a long night and just wanted to stay in. I went over after work, and he made dinner again.

That night, I got the feeling he had a girlfriend he wasn’t telling me about. Lots of little things that really mean nothing on their own, plus a vibe I was getting that I’ve experienced before gave me a suspicion I couldn’t shake. Before we went to bed, I asked him about it, and he denied it. But, really, if a guy is cheating on his girlfriend, why would he have a problem lying to my face about it?

Of course, I had sex with him again, but I made sure to collect my DVDs in advance this time. Not surprisingly, I haven’t heard from him since.

* It either says something about me or about my friends that almost all of them were much more concerned that I'd left my DVDs at his place than they were that I'd broken The Resolution. God, I love you guys.

Frank & The Fiancée: Hands off my man

This entry will be an exception to my rule not to use names or other identifying information. I feel it’s warranted. The e-mails below are posted in chronological order and have not been edited except to remove the names of everyone but Frank.

Subject: Hello, I am also 420 friendly and quitting smoking.

From: Frank Black
To: Belle
Date: Aug. 10, 2006

Hello luv. I just came by your profile on craigslist. I liked what I read, and I would like to hear more about you and to get to know you. I do have pics if you are interested, but I do expect some in return. Drop me a line. A little about myself, I stand in at 6'3, I weigh 235lbs solid, I do work out, regularly. I have brown eyes, and my hair is locked. I love the outdoors, sports (watching and playing). I love to read/write, I am also a movie/music/book junkie. I look forward to hearing back from you.

(I also received this same message in response to my initial ad. I didn’t respond the first time ‘round. I shouldn’t’ve responded the next time ‘round. I would not have if I'd realized he'd sent the thing before. I don't respond to form letters when I spot them.)

To: Frank Black
From: Belle
Date: Aug. 10, 2006

Hello, Frank is it?

Thanks for responding. Here's a pic. I'd write more, but I'm at work and need to get some things done pretty quickly here. How are you today?

Belle

*Pic was attached*

To: Belle
From: Frank Black
Date: Aug. 10, 2006

Hello Belle,

Thanks for the pic, you are beautiful. I like alot. I am sending you a pic as promised. It is not the best pic, but you can see what I look like. I would love to hear more about you when you get a chance.

The following message omits a canned response I’d begun sending to everyone who responded to my second ad. It helped me weed through guys at a rapid rate. I took it out of this post because it made it too damn long and had nothing to do with Frank, as he never responded.

To: Frank Black
From: Belle
Date: Aug. 10, 2006

Hey Frank,

How about that pic??

Subject: me
From: frank black
To: Belle
Date: Aug. 10, 2006

Tell me what you think.

*Pic was attached*

Honestly, I though Frank looked perhaps a little crazy and not quite my type (which is why I deleted his response and our first two e-mails). Needless to say, I didn’t respond. When I arrived at work, I had the following message in my inbox.

Subject: Frank
From: The Fiancée
To: Belle
Date: Aug. 11, 2006

Hi Belle,

I saw that my fiancee communicated with you today about pic through his myspace account, can you please refrain from communicating with him as we are scheduled to be married in 5 weeks.

Thanks in advance,

The Fiancée

Ummmmm...Wow.

Subject: Frank
From: The Fiancée
To: Belle
Date: Aug. 11, 2006

The Fiancée,
Wow. Sure thing. Thanks for telling me. Frank Black, is it? I won't be talking to him any more. Good luck.
Belle

(I then forwarded the above message to both Frank and The Fiancée with the following addition.)

Oh, wanted to make sure you got this, too, Frank. I hate drama, and I'd never get involved with someone who already has commitments.

From: The Fiancée
To: Belle
Date: Aug. 11, 2006

Thanks so much ---! yes his name is frank black, just be on the lookout

From: The Fiancée
To: Belle
Date: Aug. 11, 2006

thanks ---, I forwarded this to him as well!!!!

Note The Fiancée’s reference to contact through Myspace. Since this was a craigslist posting (and because he’d responded to both of my ads), I have to assume he’s been contacting women both on Myspace and on Craigslist, and probably for quite some time and pretty frequently.

I’m glad she was polite to me and didn’t automatically go on the attack. She could've gone all Springer on me and made my life hell. So, like I said, I'm really happy she didn't automatically assume I was a bitch intentionally trying to steal her man.

But five weeks before the big day and he's trolling for women? I'd've dumped his ass without hesitation. If I'd been in the same situation, my e-mail would've read something like this:

Subject: Frank
To: The Other Woman
CC: Frank
BCC: Everyone in Frank's address book; Frank's employer and coworkers; Everyone in my address book; Anyone else I could think of

Hi The Other Woman,

I just saw that my fiancé, Frank Black, has contacted you. We were to be married in five weeks, so I'm glad I found this out before I made that mistake. Anyhow, I just thought you should know that, in addition to being a liar and a cheater, Frank's got a much smaller penis than he'd like you to believe. Unfortunatly, he can't really work it either. He also has --insert incurable STD(s) here--. He still sucks his thumb at night, and he almost never brushes his teeth. Anyhow, I just thought I'd let you know!

Thanks,
Belle

Essentially, I'd tell every embarrassing thing I knew about the guy and then make up a few kickers of my own to add. If I had any compromising photos, I'd include those as well. And I'd probably post it on Craigslist for the next several weeks, no matter how many times it got flagged and removed. Maybe even make posters and hang them up around the neighborhood.

I didn’t hear from Frank or The Fiancée again. I only hope she came to her senses and didn’t marry the asshole.